


Touch

by junkerjam (MageRightsActivist)



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: M for violence/torture mention and impled sexual content, M/M, Mute!Corvo who learns to speak again, between D1 and D2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9988301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageRightsActivist/pseuds/junkerjam
Summary: Corvo wonders where the Outsider has been for fifteen years, and thinks of the time they shared before that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt I recieved from my Overwatch writers' guild - I wanted to take a quick break from OW fics to write something for Dishonored. The prompt was "You never even said goodbye".  
> Short oneshot as a practise for writing using touch as a primary sense.

Touch was very important to Corvo. Ever since Coldridge, with its restless nights and drawn out days. He had spent six months there, his waking hours locked in the interrogation room as the Lord Regent tried in vain to extract a confession from him. His twilight hours were fevered, shaking from the cold as they fed him enough to keep him alive and no more. Over time malnutrition set in, his hair dishevelled and matted clung to his face with a thick layer of grease.   
  
They offered him food, a bath, a chance to end the suffering; at least until they executed him, he would remind them at first.

When he adamantly refused to speak, no matter how many fingernails were ripped out or teeth pulled from his skull - when he clamped his jaw shut and they could not force it open - they would send a guard to him at night. Every time he began to fall asleep they would stick their sword between the metal bars and rattle it around until the sound reverberated in his skull. How many days he was kept awake all depended on his level of resistance.

In his entire time at the prison, nobody touched him except to hurt him - and even then, it was mostly with gloves or instruments. He felt no skin on skin contact for months, not a single instance to connect him to other human beings. Ostracised and defamed, he saw no way to escape, but he would be damned if he gave them anything.

The problem with forced silence is that once you are finished, it becomes hard to speak again. So, touch became his primary method of communication while Piero taught him signs, which he in turn taught Emily. They created their own where there were none, and changed phrases into specific shorthand. Corvo’s own language, they called it. At first the heiress had not understood why her father couldn’t speak to her. It upset her, as it did him. Sokolov confirmed that there was no physical anomaly responsible, it was entirely self-sustained and stemmed from mental conditioning during his time at the prison.

He could still hold her, however, stroke her hair and lift her into his arms. All he had left of the life he and Jessamine shared was contained within her - she was perfect and beautiful and so like her mother that sometimes Corvo couldn’t look at her because his heart would break in two. Occasionally he would hug her too tightly, and she would complain half-heartedly, he would sign a hurried apology; but the truth was he was scared to let go.

When he was anxious a hand on his back would calm him, and a hand in his was grounding. Of all the people he had met, four knew his secret language, and three knew what actions would sooth him. Well, two people and a God.  


* * *

   
He found it hard to recall the first time that the Outsider spoke to him - the exact words that He said, but he knew with painful accuracy the first time that He touched him. The sensation had been strange, but not unwelcome.

It was another trip to the void like any other, every time Corvo touched a shrine or plucked the runes from it he knew that the Leviathan would call him there. He didn’t mind - the conversation was at least stimulating even if the company was somewhat patronising. What was one to expect, from a God?

This time, however, he couldn’t sign his words - there were so many things he wanted to say that he hadn’t had to say in all his time since Coldridge and he realised too late. It was halfway through a sentence when it hit him. He didn’t have a sign for _Jessamine_ . It had always been _The Late Empress,_ or _The Empress_ ; sometimes even _mother_ when he spoke to Emily. Never _Jessamine_.

It hurt, it hurt more than anything they had done to him, more than a thousand plague ridden rat bites. More than being eaten alive, he assumed, possibly could.

The Outsider had entered his personal space without announcement or warning, and Corvo was so distracted by his floundering that he didn’t notice until he felt a hand on the small of his back.

He didn’t know what he had expected it to feel like - if he had expected it to feel like anything at all - but it wasn’t this.

Corvo thought that maybe his hand would be heavy, much like his presence in the air of the void, or ghostlike and feather light. Instead it had just the weight and solidity you would expect of any human’s. The only inhuman quality to it was the temperature - cold as ice - but alarmingly it was already adjusting to Corvo’s body heat. It was tangible, corporeal, solid and something to focus on. No sooner had he stopped struggling for letters and words, the hand was removed, and He was far away again. A satisfied look settled onto His features.

 _“Better, Corvo?”_ He had asked, and Corvo had flipped Him off. It was the start of something that even now the Royal Protector struggled to understand.   


* * *

   
The first time Corvo touched the Outsider the god had looked taken aback. It was the only time that He had ever looked genuinely surprised by something, or as surprised as one can look with eyes as black as the depths of the sea. Touch was important, it was potent, it was intimate.   
  
Since Coldridge Corvo had only touched Emily, Samuel or Captain Mayhew with familiarity.   
  
Nobody else had the privilege - until this instance.

The Outsider had been practising a particular sign, a complex gesture which replaced an entire sentence for Corvo. It meant “ _have you been well?_ ”, except He had signed it incorrectly and the result made no sense. The Lord Protector laughed at Him soundlessly.

 _“Why do you want to learn this?”_ he asked, hands quickly making the shapes. It was second nature to him by this point. _“Have you never marked someone mute before?”_

The Outsider stared into him for a short while, a scowl etched onto His features.

“Yes.” He replied simply, before breaking eye contact. “Signs are individual. It is a rare day when I am given the chance to learn something new.”

Corvo had shrugged, walking over to Him. He gestured for Him to hold out His hands. The Outsider complied, curious.

_“I always thought your fingernails were black.”_

He cocked an eyebrow, and the Lord Protector watched with some amazement at the way the nails changed colour before his eyes.

“I can change my appearance as I see fit.”

_“Huh, why do I have to look at this ugly mug then?”_

“I do not believe that is your true opinion.”

Taking His hands in his own, Corvo manipulated the freezing digits into the proper starting position and guided the God through the motions who simply stared, transfixed, at His own hands.

 _“Do you get it now?”_ he asked, and was surprised to see the other man shake His head.

“Corvo, are you aware that for information to be optimally retained it should be repeated approximately thrice?”

 _“T-h-r-i-c-e?”_ Corvo emphasised, spelling the word out with a smirk.

 _“T-h-r-i-c-e.”_ his companion made the letters in return.  
  
So they repeated it, the Leviathan pretending he didn’t know it yet, and Corvo pretending not to notice that he did.   


* * *

   
Somewhere along the line touches began to become more and more common between them, until the Outsider had been allowed to touch more of him than even Emily. Almost as much as Jessamine once had. It was on one such occasion when he had finally thought to ask the question.

They sat on the edge of a slate island, as such was the way of most of their conversations now, discussing the Lord Regent and Corvo’s encroaching infiltration of Dunwall Tower. They were close enough together that their thighs touched against one another and he didn’t even flinch when the Outsider placed a hand on his shoulder, or his thigh - in fact he readily made such contact in return. Putting an arm around Corvo’s shoulders the Outsider pulled him against His side, gesturing with His other arm out across the vastness of the void for emphasis.

“Aren’t you tempted by the idea that it could allll be yours? Emperor Corvo Attano. You could make it happen. What would happen to Dunwall in that scenario? To the Empire? Dear little Emily Kaldwin? Do you believe in the Admiral enough to allow _him_ the final decision?”

Corvo ignored His jibes, he had learned by now that the majority of the Outsider’s questions were rhetorical. The God already knew all of the possibilities, and if He didn’t then He enjoyed speculating more than a definite answer. They even started referring to those sorts of statements as _spoilers_ and they were generally frowned upon as poor sport. _  
_  
_“Do you like being touched?”_ asked Corvo, derailing the conversation.   
  
There was no reply, but the arm around his shoulders relinquished its grip and the Outsider dissolved from his side only to reappear standing in front of him. His arms were crossed over His chest as they always were when He was trying to close Himself off from the other man. His feet did not touch the ground.

 _“It’s okay. I’m the same.”_ the Serkonan added hastily.

The statement seemed to calm Him somewhat, at least he stopped hovering, opting instead to return to sitting next to Corvo. He did, however, leave some distance between them.

“You’re going to have to elaborate.”

_“I can’t talk, obviously, so touching is important. Extra communication.”_

“In case you had forgotten, I have not lost the ability to speak.”

Corvo ground his teeth in irritation, giving his companion a rude gesture.

_“How could I forget when you never shut up? Let me finish first.”_

The Outsider shifted to the other side of him- why He couldn’t just move like a person for the sake of normalcy Corvo would never understand. He gestured for him to continue.

_“I went a pretty long time without anyone touching me. It makes you both kinda sensitive to it and have a craving for it at the same time. I assume you haven’t been touched by anyone in a long time either.”_

His companion dissolved, and did not reappear for some time - leaving Corvo alone with the cold air which sank through to his bones. He waited, however, in his same spot. When the Outsider did eventually grace him with His presence again He looked conflicted. It was a very human expression, confusion and stubbornness rolled up together in coating of embarrassment.

“I was not sure how to approach the subject.” He admitted, standing away from Corvo. “I died long ago - around four thousand years to be precise.”

The Lord Protector nodded to indicate that he was listening.

“I died, and I was born again. I have marked many, and touched few.”

_“In four thousand years?”_

“Yes.”

_“How many have touched you?”_

There was a pause.

“None before you.”

This revelation was a lot for Corvo to take in.

_“None?”_

“None.”

It implied a great deal of things, some of which he knew he shouldn’t think about but he _does._ Had the Outsider never experienced the love of another human? How old was He when He passed? The man He portrayed himself as looked young but fully grown. Maybe in His mid twenties. Was this form a relative representation of His age within the void? Perhaps four thousand years as a God was equal to ten as a human - assuming He had been at least in His mid teens when He had been sacrificed. If He had been so young, had He never known the affection of a woman - or a man for that fact? Chewing the inside of his cheek, Corvo thought on this heavy statement for a while as he formulated his response.

_“Do you know why?”_

The Outsider disappeared and rematerialized to sit next to him again.

“I am who I am. What I am. It scares people, rightfully so. I am not safe, I am _unknown_.”

 _"_ _Yeah, you’re a hagfish.”_ Corvo responded with some amusement. The Leviathan cracked a small smile.

“I’ve been promoted.”

Tentatively, with slow and deliberate movements, Corvo looked Him in the eyes as he signed.

_“I think you’re still pretty human.”_

He had woken up on the floor in front of the shrine after that statement. Forcibly removed from the void.  


* * *

   
Bringing his mind back to the present, Corvo slumped over his desk - tired and exasperated. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. An uneasy feeling had been following him around for weeks, so he had been shadowing Emily even closer than before. It was easy to attribute it to the anniversary of Jessamine’s death, but this was something more. A primal instinct. Something was coming and he didn’t know what. This was not the time to be thinking about that damned whale bastard.

It had been fifteen years since he had exposed the Lord Regent, defied a secondary betrayal by the Admiral and his men, and helped Emily take back her throne. Fifteen long years of silence. He recalled the final visit he paid to the void, just after his task was complete. Again, words were lost to him, and his memory mostly centred around touch. He hated this now, that he couldn’t remember the last words they said to one another. He hated even more that his mind wandered back to Him even now. What was the very last thing he had said to the Outsider? What was the last thing He had said to him? Corvo didn’t know, and it grieved him to this day.

He recalled the weather, it had been raining when he found the shrine. It was beautiful - more so than others he had been finding of late. Surrounded by pearly white rowan flowers and the polished wormwood swathed in black satin. At the time he hadn’t known the significance of any of these items, but further study told him that rowan flowers requested protection while their white colour was associated further with this intention. Wormwood symbolised bitterness, and the black satin invoked defence, the night, and contact with the spirits.   
  
Corvo had felt a slight amount of guilt for using it since whoever had created it clearly carefully maintained it. However, at this point the runes were almost like an addiction. They sang to him in his sleep, sometimes eerie tales of futures that may come to pass, others cradle songs of comfort. Today they called him closer, bid him to take them, _take what is his._ No sooner had he felt the smooth edges of the carved bone beneath his fingertips did he fall as the world shattered and fragmented around him. He landed haphazardly on a chaise lounge, the plush fabric softening the blow. Corvo ran his hands over the quilting, admiring the tactile stitches and slight friction as they moved.  
  
The Outsider had appeared to him then, mouth set in a hard line - determination. He remembered the beginning, the God sat opposite him on a similarly adorned armchair.  
  
“Do you truly believe I still possess humanity, dear Corvo?” He asked, uncharacteristically for Him.  
  
The Lord Protector nodded in return. _  
  
__“You’re an asshole, sure, but pretty human.”_  
  
The Outsider had seemed to think on this momentarily, digesting the statement. He dissolved into the air and before Corvo could blink He was sitting next to him on the now solitary piece of furniture.  
  
“Will you forgive me then, a human desire?” He asked, and Corvo had noticed their proximity. Felt the breath on his cheek and - oh had He always been breathing all this time? Did He even need to? The air that came out of His lungs was as icy cold as the rest of Him, like a Northern sea breeze carrying His salty scent over the docks.  
  
He smelled fresh, semi-sweet, not at all like the Overseers would have you believe. The strictures described Him as a creature of decay, a stinking corpse hiding behind a human disguise. Corvo recalled that He could change His form, and wondered if He appeared differently to men of the Abbey.  
  
Here and now, all he could see was a man. Lonely, and no longer above asking. _  
  
__“Why me?”_ he asked, confused by the God’s advances. _“You’ve had plenty of marked, nobody else ever caught your attention?”_  
  
The Outsider frowned, a scowl made more intimidating by his inky black eyes.  
  
“You are different. You neither covet nor fear me. I am… more equal than I have felt in millennia.”  
  
Corvo felt tense, he did not fear Him as a deity, but he was concerned by his _own_ desires.  
  
_“I am not afraid of God. I am more afraid of men.”_  
  
“That is wise. Men are much more dangerous than I. However, they are also more interesting.”  
  
The Outsider was closer still now, leaving barely enough space between them for Corvo to sign anything. Realising that this was the time to make a final decision, the Lord Protector reached his marked hand out tentatively to touch His face. His skin here was as cool as the rest of Him, but smooth and soft. If he was honest with himself he had been lonely too.  
  
He hated himself for it, but his body didn’t allow him to forget the desires he held deep. It felt wrong, a betrayal - Jessamine had been his greatest love and she was gone, yet here he was with someone else. The heart whispered to him at night, and Corvo was no fool. He knew it was her. She encouraged him, spoke of how she missed him, asked him to find love again. It was wrong, but he was so lost without her - without someone to care for him. The God broke him from his thoughts by placing an icy palm over Corvo’s hand.  
  
“Are you aware of the calendar?” He asked, seemingly so off topic that it took the Serkonan by surprise. He simply blinked in confusion. The Outsider smirked. “We’re at the beginning of the Fugue feast.”  
  
Corvo was still struggling to grasp his meaning.  
  
“According to _your_ traditions, whatever happens now is eschewed from history.”  
  
The Lord Protector rolled his eyes, of course He would make a joke of something like that. Removing his hand from the other man’s face he leant back so that he could respond.  
  
_“It will be a part of_ my _history.”_   
  
The God had hummed in appreciation before leaning closer, their lips barely touching.  
  
_Dear Corvo, my chosen. Bearing my mark. Mine._  
  
The words echoed in his consciousness more than he heard them out loud.  
  
All that he could recall beyond that point were sensations, touches in the dark. The vague memory of a taste on his tongue – like sea salt ice cream. Briny yet sweet, bitter yet pleasant.   
  
Whispers of delicate fingers on his skin.  
  
He was aware of the Outsider speaking to him, barely audible praises, as He worshipped Corvo; as if their roles were reversed. Murmurs of encouragement, and a desperation for affection. He hadn’t expected the other man to be so needy, or so gentle. So many years alone left a desire for more than satisfaction of the flesh, it seemed.  
  
He didn’t know how long they spent like this, exploring one another and the sensations they had been denied; but he knew that when it was over, he felt at peace.  
  
They had spoken only a little after that, he recalled some small utterances - _you are graceful, warm, and handsome Corvo_ \- but nothing with true solidity . For a time they had simply drank in the proximity, the closeness to another being. The Outsider’s skin was no longer cold on his, whether he had heated up or their temperatures had equilibrated Corvo did not know; but it was not unpleasant. He drifted off to sleep like this, with the other man’s thin fingers raking through his hair. Later he awoke at the shrine again, leaning comfortably against the black folds that surrounded him. A single rowan had fallen into his lap, and shined up at him.  
  
A feeling of dread enveloped him, but he did not know why. Standing, he brushed himself off – time had barely passed if at all, as per usual. It was time for his final assault against the Admiral. Picking up where he left off, he bent down tentatively to place a kiss on a rune, which he then placed back onto the shrine. Maybe the Outsider wouldn’t like receiving an offering from him, but something told him this might be his last opportunity to do so while he knew the God was watching.  


* * *

   
Shaking the memories from his head and swallowing a lump in his throat, Corvo cursed under his breath. He spent some time appreciating the cool surface of the desk on which his head lay before he allowed exhaustion to claim him once again. It was a vain hope that he would dream of the man with the otter eyes, but he wished it anyway.   
  
He had spent much of his time learning about black magic, witchcraft and the occult since that day. Initially he was full of optimism, erecting a small shrine in the royal saferoom. When months passed without a visit to the void he became concerned. Took the shrine down for a time in case it had angered the Leviathan. When this didn’t work he put it back up again, adding to it as time went on. He tried many different flowers and cloth. Anise for dreams, poppies for sleep and oblivion, forsythia for anticipation. Eventually he settled on a small cactus from far away - endurance - forget-me-nots, on a wormwood base surrounded by trappings of white. White declared consecration, he hoped that it showed his devotion was unwavering despite their time apart. The Outsider must have judged him and found him wanting, because He did not contact him again.  
  
His earlier intuitions about Emily’s safety had been correct, and it all went wrong. Those unholy clockwork soldiers butchered the loyalists in the throne room, and everyone left had turned against them. Delilah made Emily into an effigy of stone and Corvo was forced once again to flee Dunwall Tower as he had done all those years ago.  
  
Captain Mayhew… He felt the weight of her death on his shoulders heavier than lead, her parents should be notified. She had been the one to help him speak again. Her careful patience and understanding had allowed him to build his communication back up over the years to the point that he only used signs now when he wanted to share secrets with Emily. It was by some stroke of luck or fate that Meagan had been waiting for him with the Dreadful Wale. He found himself in the position of being a wanted man in his own home for a second time. Except now there were no lies about his actions, no dispute over his loyalty to the Kaldwins – it was this exact quality that called for his execution.   
  
Delilah had taken his daughter, spat on Jessamine’s memory and to top it all off she had removed his mark. Looking at the skin on the back of his hand felt strange and unnatural, the Outsider’s mark so constant a fixture in his life now gone. It carried such finality - like as long as he had borne it there was a chance he would see the whale God again. Now he was completely cut off from the void, and an emptiness settled into his bones.   


* * *

   
Corvo thought that it would be difficult to fall asleep that first night on the Wale, but he was wrong and unconsciousness claimed him quickly. When he ‘awoke’ he knew instantly that something was off. It was silent, unnaturally so. No sound of the tide outside of the hull, no seabirds or creaking of the vessel. The air around him was cold and thick, like crawling through soup.  
  
The chill struck him right through to his core.  
  
There was only one place that felt like this – he was back in the void. His mind was racing, why now, why here? After all this time, what excuse could the Outsider have for him to explain his extended absence. His blood was boiling. Anger filled every pore and yet his body betrayed him, his heart hammering in anticipation.  
  
“Where are you…” he muttered to himself as he turned to see a segment of the wall was missing, footsteps heavy against familiar islands of slate. “You might as well show yourself.”  
  
As he entered a broken doorway, he felt the presence around him begin to condense to a single point, and the Outsider materialized before him.  
  
“Corvo, old friend…” He began, the same smug face that He had always worn plastered across His features. “Do I even have to say it?”  
  
The Lord Protector felt like his limbs were not attached to his body, even though every fibre of his being was screaming to just _punch the fucker_ .  
  
“You’ve lost another empress.”  
  
Time did not exist in the void, but that didn’t stop Corvo from feeling his own personal clock stand still with that statement, he could not hold himself back any longer.   
  
“I’m sorry, what the _fuck_ ?”   
  
The Outsider looked taken aback, a single eyebrow raised in question.   
  
“You’ve gotten your voice back. Colour me surprised.”   
  
Corvo clenched his jaw, every inch of his body screamed distaste.   
  
“Well that answers one question,” he spat from between his teeth. “You _haven’t_ been watching me all these years.”   
  
The Leviathan scratched His face as though He were bored.   
  
“I did, in the beginning.”   
  
The Lord Protector took a step towards the other man, fully prepared to deck Him despite the potential repercussions.   
  
“Dear Corvo, please allow me to -”   
  
“No. Shut up.”   
  
He stood bodily on the ground in front of the Serkonan, obsidian eyes blinking in confusion.   
  
“You don’t get to speak right now. You fucking, you left me? Alone? For _fifteen years_ . I looked for you. Did what I thought would catch your attention and you weren’t even looking?”   
  
“Corvo-”   
  
“If you’re going to offer me your _gifts_ again you can damn well keep them. I don’t want the mark of some self-righteous, asshole of a God, who dumps people without even saying goodbye.”   
  
He wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t allow the Outsider a moment’s reprieve to explain himself.   
  
Realistically he should have seen it coming - but he was so wound up that he didn’t notice his companion’s ever darkening expression. In a split second he was shoved bodily against a wall, before finding himself free falling through the void.   
  
Disorientated, he groaned as the world snapped to a halt around him, the Leviathan held him by a foot - upside down over the edge of their little island space. Corvo swallowed, the infinite expanse below him sobering him immediately.   
  
“Have you forgotten, dear one,” came the layered echo of the God’s voice as He lifted the Serkonan effortlessly. “ _Who_ you are talking to?”   
  
Corvo was thrown back onto solid ground, his vision going momentarily black from the impact before he was lifted by his armpits and made to stand. His sight came back only for him to see angry black orbs staring back at him.   
  
The Outsider gripped his chin roughly in one hand, holding the wrist of his previously marked hand in the other. It was strong, heavy, a grip like iron. Nothing like the touches he experienced before.   
  
“May I speak, _Lord Protector_ ? Or are you so self-important that I should be silent?”   
  
Corvo swallowed roughly, nodding as much as the grip on his face allowed him to.   
  
“Good. Then listen.” He relinquished His hold on the assassin’s jaw, and lessened the pressure on his wrist. Opting instead to bring the hand up to look at it with careful consideration.   
  
“You have encountered Delilah by now. You know what she is, her power. I marked her once, and Daud was supposed to have ended her life. Delilah, however, possesses a resilience and cunning I have seen in none before or since. I can elaborate another time, but you have much to do. All you need to know is that she is…” He paused, frowning in distaste. “A part of me now. I _don’t_ like it.”   
  
Corvo nodded, the more familiar sensation of the Outsider’s gentle touch lingering on his now unmarked hand.   
  
“Why?” he asked, allowing his rage to abate. Now it was replaced by a bittersweet longing. “Why didn’t you contact me in all this time?”   
  
The God was now running His fingers over Corvo’s, settling them in the gaps between His own.   
  
“I,” another pause - he seemed, _embarrassed_ ? “Do not like to share.”  
  
The Lord Protector could not help but laugh, partly out of disbelief, partly out of genuine amusement.   
  
“So you went without my company - made me go without yours - for _fifteen years,_ because you felt like you would be sharing me with Delilah?”   
  
“Yes. And part of me is loathe to mark you again because of it.” He began, looking at Corvo with hungry eyes. “But you are _mine_ , and I will not let you forget it.”   
  
The other man responded to the God’s grasp, clasping their hands together now where his digits were once pliable and limp.   
  
“Give it back to me.”   
  
He felt cold lips touch the back of his hand. It burned from within, the pain familiar and real. The unabashed satisfaction on the Leviathan’s features was worth it. If His heart still beat, Corvo was sure He would be flushed with heat.   
  
“Get her _out_ .” He muttered, tightening his grasp. “I cannot bring myself to touch you until she is gone.”   
  
“We’ve already wasted so much of my time,” Corvo protested, his every fibre aching to be held. “I am getting old.”   
  
The Leviathan hissed at this, it was subtle but the assassin heard it. An inhuman noise.   
  
“If I could buy you forever for a price, I would buy it twice.” He confessed.   
  
The Lord protector took the other’s face in his hands.   
  
“Nothing lasts forever, except memories. Think of what we could have done in fifteen years.”   
  
“Think of what we can do in the years to come, once she is gone.”   
  
With this statement, the Outsider dissolved from his grasp and only His voice could be heard as an echo in the cold air.   
  
“If you visit the shrines, I will come. We have much to do. Which path is your truth this time, I wonder?”  


* * *

  
Corvo awoke with his heart beating out of his chest, and threw the covers off to let the cool air hit his skin and calm his anxious sweating. An object floated to the ground at his feet.  
  
A forget-me-not.

He had been watching after all.


End file.
